


Happy Olicity Holidays 2015

by arrow_through_my_writers_block



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrow_through_my_writers_block/pseuds/arrow_through_my_writers_block
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for all Christmas/Holiday ficlets for our favorite pairing in 2015. AUs, episode fics, spec, prompts. You name it. </p>
<p>All written for my 25 Days of Olicity extravaganza!<br/>Contents:<br/>1. Oh, No, Not Mistletoe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh, No, Not Mistletoe

They had been working on the decorations for hours, stringing lights and garland around the lair. Red bows on the back of each chair. A poinsettia in the center of their table of epic mission arguments. It had all been perfect. A shared mission between the two of them to bring holiday cheer to their horrific night time activities. It had been going oh so well. Until Oliver winked and raised a brow before glancing up at the ceiling mischievously.

Directly above them was a small cluster of mistletoe. The nefarious white berries and soft green leaves stared down at Felicity with knowing taunts.  _Pleased to see us, Felicity?_ she imagined them saying between cackles and jeers.  _Ready to relive the horrors?_

“No! Nope. Not happening,” she shouted, head shaking and arms flailing in complete refusal. She turned away from Oliver and went straight to her computer, her precious fern resting proudly next to her, shrouded in bright pink lights. It was comforting. Reassuring.

“Why not?” Oliver asked, at her side almost instantly. Quietly.  _Like a damn ninja._

“Oh, no, not mistletoe,” she groaned.

“I’m pretty sure the line is  _oh,_ oh _,_  the  _mistletoe_ , Felicity.”

She swiveled around in her chair, facing him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. For a moment she stared him down, but all was lost in those blue eyes.  _Damn him and his perfect genetics._  “I don’t care what the line is, Oliver. We are  _not_  kissing beneath mistletoe.”

“But why not?” Oliver asked, a hint of childish whining in his voice. If she weren’t so annoyed and rattled, she might have found it adorable.

“Mistletoe is not innocent. It is not romantic. It is evil,” she explained, pointing at the berries accusingly. “Pure evil.”

Oliver crossed his arms, folding them across his chest as he tilted his head. He fought back a grin. She could see it twitching at the corners of his mouth, begging to break free. “Evil? It is a plant, Felicity. Not a… villain.”

She laughed. “That’s what it wants you to think, Oliver. It puts you into a false sense of security and then - BAM - evil holiday sorcery.”  _So much evil. Disgusting sorcery. Eww._

The grin shatter through Oliver’s stoicism and he laughed. “Please. Explain this to me. What could have happened to you that would make you hate mistletoe so much?”

“Oh, where to begin,” she murmured, jumping out of her seat to pace between the computers, keeping a safe distance between her and the evil holiday berries. “I’ve been stood up about a dozen times beneath the mistletoe. I’d be standing there like a fool, fending off pervs and twiddling my thumbs while the guy who promised me a kiss would be twiddling someone else’s…well, you know.” She glanced at Oliver, his eyes following her with interest, lingering on her lips as she babbled, the grin wide. “I had my actual first kiss under the mistletoe and the guy thought it would be normal to bite my lip. He claimed it would bind us together if it drew blood. It didn’t, thank goodness.”

“A guy bit you?” he asked between clenched teeth, squelching back laughter.

“Yes! Now shh, I am not done.” She pointed at him, waiting for him to try to speak but he simply stood and watched her, arms still crossed. “And, worst of all, my first experience with mistletoe was seeing my mother in our kitchen doorway, the damn berries hanging over her head as she screwed some dude in a black and gold suit. He may or may not have been an Elvis impersonator.”

“Felicity-”

“And then I thought about how often you must’ve used mistletoe in your more…promiscuous years and I wondered if you ever left a girl standing there to fend off pervs…”

“Felicity-”

“And even though I know you’re not that guy anymore - nowhere near that guy - it kind of weirds me out and-”

“ _Fe-li-ci-ty_ , stop please and look at me.”

She closed her mouth and spun around, finding him on a ladder taking down the mistletoe. He kept it far away from her as he made his way to the trash can full of boxes and bags from their decorations. He tossed the berries in with a smile, then made his way back to her, arms outstretched. She let herself melt against him, his constantly warm body soothing her frazzled emotions, listening to the beating of his heart.  _I’ll never get tired of listening to this…_

“No more mistletoe. I promise. From now on, when I want a kiss around the holidays, I’ll initiate it normally. Agreed?” he asked, lifting her chin so she could look at him. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Warm. Romantic. Full of promises.

“Agreed.”


	2. Not Meant For Gingerbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity forces Oliver to build gingerbread houses. It does not go well.

“We’re not five years old, Felicity,” Oliver said as Felicity brought out boxes of gingerbread and all the possible candies to top them with. “I’m not making gingerbread houses.”

Her lips formed into a pout as soon as the words left his lips and his heart clenched a little. She was adorable. She was his. She was everything. And even though she demanded so many random, ridiculous things of him, he couldn’t disappoint her.

“Okay…” he groaned out, pulling a stool up to the counter and plopping down. “Where do we start?”

She clapped her hands excitedly and hopped onto the stool beside him and began laying out squares of gingerbread on the foil covered counter. Then she opened up jars of sprinkles, bags of chocolate chips and other candies. Then the tubes of icing. She spread her arms at all the ingredients. “Use the icing to build the house.”

She said it with such confidence and without any other explanation. He felt slightly embarrassed. “I-uh… I’ve never actually built a gingerbread house before,” he admitted, reaching up to massage the back of his neck awkwardly.

Her head jerked to face him. “What!? How?”

“My family wasn’t exactly the type to do fun kid stuff…”

She frowned. “Right… _Boring_.” Then she began building her gingerbread house, standing her gingerbread walls up perfectly, securing them with the frosting. He followed her lead, his large hands clumsy with the brittle cookies. As he built the house, corners broke and cracks formed along the surfaces. The task was definitely best left to Felicity’s dainty, gentle hands. Hands he adored. Hands he loved to hold. Hands he cherished against his own skin. One hand he longed to put a certain ring.

He dropped his hands into his lap, eyes turned away from his massive failure.

“Oliver. What is _that_?” she asked, slightly appalled. He glanced up to find her brows raised and mouth formed into a shocked ‘o’.

“A gingerbread house,” he murmured.

“Please tell me you were going for a gingerbread house post-horrific-earthquake?”

He shook his head, face going red. “Is it really that bad?”

She nodded, lips shifting into a pitying smile. “But it’s...a good first attempt.”

“I’m not gonna make another one. My hands are not meant for this.”

“Oh really?” she asked. “And what exactly _are_ they meant for?” Her brows began to wag suggestively.

He chuckled, dipping his finger into a pool of icing. He lifted it and spread it across her bottom lip, lingering with the touch. He heard her breath hitch slightly. Then he leaned in and sucked it away, savoring the sweet flavor against the taste of her lips. Then he kissed her, mixing everything together, gripping the back of her neck with his calloused hand.

His hands might not be gentle enough to build gingerbread houses, but they were perfect for being with her. Perfect for being with her in every possible way.

****  
  



End file.
